


Aeternus Amor Meus

by eri_quin



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gen, Genderbending, Historical References, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eri_quin/pseuds/eri_quin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They thought it was France who influenced America from England. That only Prussia influenced America's military. That only England's culture was completely entwined with America. But someone else was pulling the strings and Rome was waiting to rise again. Rome/Fem!America, slight UK/US (mostly one sided), and slight World/America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rome Wasn't Built In a Day

He stumbled through the foliage, mind dazed and not yet focused. His mind hasn't been focused for quite some time, ever since he'd been dealt that blow by his former bodyguard turned enemy –Germania, who he'd once considered a close friend.

How long ago has that been?

It's felt like forever as he kept running, wound flowing freely of blood, not stopping and strangely he had yet to die. He muttered a curse as he stumbled again, but this time he dropped to his knees, heaving great breaths to try and gain back any sort of sense. As he slumped over and lay gasping on the ground, his blurry gaze peered up and saw an unclear figure gazing down at him, a golden sort of haze framing whoever or whatever it was.

" _Angelus_ ," he murmured.

' _So, Holy Roman Empire, has one of your little angels come to collect my soul? To where does a fallen Empire go –to Heaven, to Hell, or do Nations simply fade away? How does that fit into your little religion, little boy?'_

He closed his eyes and waited for peace.

When he next awoke, he was surprised that he was still alive. Unless the afterlife was very much like the living, then he doubted he was dead. After all, there were no gorgeous women in scanty clothing moving about in what he'd pictured the afterlife to be.

And then a little girl popped up in front of his face, blue eyes wide and innocent as they stared at him curiously. He nearly fell back in shock, but regained his balance and stared back at the girl. She wore a similar, though much more simple, outfit like the other women there, wearing gold bracelets, a necklace, and also a diadem, with some type of blue gems embedded into the jewelry. She was barefooted, with ankle bracelets designed like the rest of her trinkets. She actually reminded him a little of Ancient Egypt, except a lot more wilder. And a little of the African savages he'd met all those time ago.

"Who are you?" he asked, fixing a kind smile on his face.

She tilted her head and then began to talk. But what came out of her mouth wasn't any language he knew and he ended up not understanding a thing she said. He inwardly pursed his lips and reevaluated his situation, thinking about his next step.

However, this was nothing new. He had conquered many a nation without understanding their language and eventually forcing his own onto them. But as he glanced around, he understood he could not do that here. He was still weak, recovering from his fall from grace. And he was still in the process of healing from his wounds.

No, no force could be used here.

Instead, he would watch and gather information. He would learn to communicate in some way and soon enough, he will find a way back to the top.

" _Romanum_ ," he enunciated, turning his attention back to the little girl. "Ro-man-num," he pointed to himself.

She tilted her head again. "Rominam."

He frowned and shook his head. " _Romanum_."

Her face scrunched up adorably in confusion.

"Rome," he said quietly. "I am Rome."

While she probably did not understand most of that sentence, the shortened Rome seemed to click with her.

"Rome," she sounded out, pointing at him. He nodded, smiling again. "Amy-ka," she replied, pointing to herself.

He was the one confused this time, and shook his head to show his confusion.

"Amy…Amy…Amyr…icka," she tried to enunciate her name for him to understand. "Ah-mar-icka."

"America," it seemed right to him, so he spoke it. With the name seeming to just come to him, the minute warmth of appreciation that entered him as he spoke it and seemed to confirm its rightness, and the invisible aura all Nations had that told other Nations that they were one as well was around her –it all seemed to add up to tell him this girl was a Nation also.

He gently took her little hands into his and bent over to face her.

"America," he repeated. " _Neutiquam erro_."

' _I am not lost. I am not yet done in this world.'_

A year passed and Rome had made considerable progress. He had healed and was in full health, but had discovered that only this girl could see him. To all eyes but America's, he was nothing but a shadow.

He had also learned that the people she was currently staying with were called the Aztecs, but that she didn't stay with them all the time. She was more up the north, she'd managed to communicate to him, but she liked to visit the south a lot. A man named Mexico stayed in this area, she told him, but she always stayed out of sight.

In that year, he also managed to at least teach her Latin so that they could communicate more easily with each other, and that at least the language barrier could be breached. And unlike how he'd forced his language on those before, she willingly learned it and he actually taught it. It was…different. But nice.

When she returned back to the north, he was surprised to see how different it was from where he'd left. The indigenous people here dressed and lived differently and he had to readjust himself to the differences yet again. America seemed to slip right in easily, but then again these were her people.

He found he enjoyed the north better, simply because there was a lot more of the hunting he was more familiar with. It called out to his battle-oriented side, and a bit of his barely-there bloodlust was sated. He was still not seen, but that did not bother him as much as it had in the beginning. He had great company in a chattering America and he found the silence outside of that to be comforting and peaceful, something his usual life-full-of-war had been lacking.

Rome was pleased the girl learned so easily. When hunting, he taught her how to hunt much more effectively than the people she lived with. Deciding it would be worth his effort and his mind going on to start scheming without him fully knowing initially, he began to start teaching her diligently –as if she were an apprentice or just a student.

He taught her how to fight hand to hand combat with more prowess and organization known to his people than known to hers. After all, Romans were known soldiers and fighters. As for the sword, he held off mostly on that, considering there seemed to be no swords around there. He idly allowed some rudimentary lessons, using sticks, just so that she could at least get the basics and have a handle on them. For his own sword, he did not think she would be able to carry such a heavy and long thing just yet, and it probably wouldn't be safe to let such a young one wave around a sharp object with no expertise.

He continued his patient teaching, broadening his topics and spreading lessons evenly between things. He also decided to teach her some of the other languages he had gotten at least a grasp on from the others he'd conquered. Things were going along quite fine for him.

Soon, years passed and he was America's most constant and sometimes only companion. He continued teaching her, and started focusing a lot of his own culture. It was the thought of…if this seemingly ghostlike existence for him was permanent then he would live through America.

He would live and rise again, even if it meant in the image of someone else. If it would take years, he could wait. He was a stubborn and prideful man, and he had never been picky about his wins. As long as he was patient, he could cultivate a path to his ascendance once more. He would not stay down forever.

His enemies would come to fear him again and regret his fall.

Rome also knew that America would be his greatest masterpiece, his grandest work of art. He treasured both his grandsons, but Italy (aside from the food, art and women) was nowhere near like himself. And Romano was even less like Rome than his brother. No, America would be his true successor.

All he needed was time.

And apparently, he had that in plentiful grains of sand.

"Rome, will we be done soon?" America asked him in boredom, idly tracing random pictures of animals into the ground.

He smiled proudly to himself, hearing her speak perfect Latin. His little protégée was coming along just fine alright.

"Soon," he soothed. "Just a little more."

"I don't understand why you are teaching me the sword. No one uses it here," she looked to him.

"Because," he gazed back seriously. "I admit your people are very skilled with the bow and arrow. In fact,  _very_  skilled…but sword fighting is in my blood and I want it to be in yours."

"If it is for you, then I will," she agreed simply.

Rome tensed, jerking his head in a far off direction. He frowned to himself and America watched him worriedly.

"Stay here, America. I will come back soon," he told her firmly, clasping one of her shoulders tightly in caution.

"Okay," she mumbled, picking up her bunny and cuddling it to her chest.

He then shot away, running full speed towards the direction where he felt the pull and could hear the water swaying faster than normal. Thrashing through the trees and bushes, uncaring of the branches that smacked and scratched against his skin and muscles, he made it passed all that to run into a stop near the end of the land where water met.

Idly, he thought it an odd but wondrous thing that aside from America, animals and inanimate objects could see and physically touch him.

Shaking his head of such useless thoughts, he gazed out to the ocean and found to his irritation and consternation, that his suspicions were correct. His worries were founded and his pride and work were at stake.

The pull that came of other Nations coming closer.

The sound of the waves rushing and indicating incoming ships.

And the innate sense of something huge and important to come; that feeling of premonition that his cards would soon come under attack.

This did not bode well, but truthfully it didn't hinder him. He could handle himself and his work shouldn't be threatened, if he was confident of his progress. This was only a minor hitch in his plans, but it was nothing more than an inconvenience. He'd already laid his foundations and buried his roots so deep that he was now integrated into America, of that he was fully sure of.

He glanced at the flying flags of the ships and bared his teeth. He quite recognized a lot of them, though some designs had been altered.

"Spaniard," he muttered. And even one that was totally unfamiliar, but whose presence seemed strongly recognizable –reminded him a lot of the barbaric British tribes he'd fought. But a group of them together brought a recollection of a tribe he'd once fought and conquered, only for their Nation to 'end' him in his final stand.

" _Barbarians_ ," he snarled, clenching his fists and tensing up for an attack, even though they were much far away to be within attacking distance.

Every bone in his body screamed war and vengeance.

' _Soon,'_  he promised himself.  _'Soon.'_

After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.

And now, it seemed, he had competition. However, he had years on these children when it came to America, and he'd already spent so much time invested in her. His interest in her had been far longer than theirs.

He would let nothing ruin him.

Started 1/22/12 –Completed 1/30/12


	2. I am Trapped Inside

Because he was Rome. And he was the Emperor among Nations.

It was, therefore, unacceptable that such upstarts were invading on his territory, though it was not actually his.

Since spotting the incoming ships and the inevitable Nations aboard those ships, Rome had grumblingly taken his charge and expertly maneuvered around the intruders. He took care not to get caught or let America be seen (because he was still unbelievably invisible), and when she asked what was going on or why he was doing all this, he answered vaguely.

Soon, he wouldn't be able to keep doing that.

Oh, Rome knew that America would soon become impatient and would eventually do something to try to find things out on her own. She was young and impulsivity was common in the young. It had been a common trait with Italy and Romano.

However, it helped to buy him time and try to find a favorable solution to his problem that cropped up. He was neither fully whole, it seemed, so he could not just pop out and simply force the others into submission. It seems that he would just have to then steer America towards the Nation that would benefit him (and her) and their situation the most.

Perhaps…he'd have to look in on the Nations and decide the best one, but for now his thoughts lingered on a few Nations. He'd prefer a more docile one, therefore one that would be the most malleable to America and which meant himself.

He took time to do reconnaissance, studying the Nations that had arrived and would be the best candidate to not ruin his plans. Mildly, his thoughts went to France, who he saw had grown in the time he'd been gone. The eccentric Nation was a fool, highly self-absorbed, and yet also wasn't too bad a power Nation. The resources and power was there, and he and America could wield such things much better than France ever could.

Finland was also a good choice, if only because of how meek the Nation was. Then again, he wasn't as large or powerful of a Nation as France was, and there was that annoying Sweden to think of. He was also tempted to try a more obvious Germanic Nation, if only because his anger and bitterness clouded his head and screamed at him to use this opportunity to seek revenge.

He was still somewhat sore at the missed opportunity to take some form of revenge against Germania, by attacking that Leif Erikson some centuries ago. It wasn't even restraint that kept him back, but this pitiful semi-incorporeal state he seemed to be stuck in.

There was also that Spaniard…He was on par with France, and had actually been the first to come to the Americas, aside from Erikson (who was only human and didn't really count, as Spain arrived with the Italian Columbus and had actually spread the awareness of America's lands to the others). Spain had reached closer to the south of America's lands though, where he understood that America had relinquished control over to some other Nation that he didn't fully know or fully understood the situation. Neither of them had been to the south for a while though, so they hadn't known that until it was after the fact and too late –and all Nations had come to get their grubby hands on his protégée.

Still, this would be a good time to further observe the others and make a concrete decision. Then he could tell America and she would approach his choice, and soon enough things would fall into place.

Keeping to that course of action, he decidedly went after the Nations to look and see before making a firmer choice in who could be the greatest asset to them and have guardianship over America.

They were actually a rather pathetic lot.

France, older now, was as youthful and perverted as ever. And then there was England, whose flag was the one he had sort of (but not really) recognized. His head tilted to the side and he watched the blond with thick eyebrows shout at the Frenchman.

He remembered England well. He remembered defeating and forcing his mother, Britannia, to submit to him and conquering the British Isles. ' _Albion_ ', England had been called then. What Rome had called him. It did not seem as if that is what he was referred to nowadays, if the Frenchman's returned shouting indicated.

He wondered about ' _Lerne_ '. How was she these days? Did she still cry at the drop of a helmet? Perhaps she still holds a grudge against England…

Rome felt rather old, with all these memories and recollections. 'Tis no matter, anyhow. He had a new start and he felt invigorated and ready to reclaim the new world. He would be a Conqueror once more, soon enough.

He inwardly scoffed at England though. Still as silly as he remembered the younger Nation. It was laughable to even think, much less acknowledge, that England had grown up to be a formidable foe for the others, much less himself. He laughed outright –no one could hear him anyways.

He decided he'd take a break and search out America, perhaps finally bring her up to speed and warn her of the other Nations as well as his future plans. He'd only gone a little ways off from the Nations, when he spotted a small child that looked remarkably like a smaller, child version of his enemy (ex- _friend_ ) Germania. His mind blanked and he saw red, rushing forward with the intent on attacking the little beast, and destroying the mirror image of his foe.

Unfortunately, he only dove right through the little brat and landed roughly on the ground beside him. Another Germanic "mercenary" appeared, and Rome recognized him as another Nation –Prussia. Once again older and taller, the albino Nation called out to the brat and had him follow him back to the Nations' camp on the shores. Grumbling in his head and glaring at the retreating backs of the Germanic Nations, he held back his snarl and forced himself to focus on his goal of finding America.

When he still wasn't able to find her after nearly a half hour of searching, he unhappily went back to spy on the other Nations. Here, he saw Finland stumble into the camp, looking bruised and beat up. The fool must've provoked one of the other Nations on the prowl and gotten thrashed for it.

He halfheartedly listened, more worried about his little America and wondering where she had gone off to. It was only when Finland had stopped talking about his situation with Netherlands that he started giving his full attention, hearing the Nation talk about seeing a little girl peeking on Sweden and him and running away before they could come talk to her.

"I'm worried. What if that poor little girl runs into Netherlands? Oh, she'll get hurt!"

Rome narrowed his eyes. He did not like the idea of America being found out, or that these Nations now knew of her. He didn't like this new development, that didn't fit with his plans. He also disliked  _anyone_  hurting her, and he would not tolerate this  _Netherlands_  laying a hand on his successor. He wouldn't let anyone hurt America.

He scowled as he saw France and England grow extremely interested looks on their faces.

He disliked their interests too.

The three of them questioned if America was one of them, and then they started to wonder if his little one could possibly be their "little sister." He snorted. As if. They weren't even worthy of being near her, much less being related to her –by blood or adoption.

France and England began to squabble over the ownership over America, and he inwardly began steaming with anger and mentally ranting in indignation at the nerve of those two, ignoring the weakling Finland's terrified watching.

Once again, he left the fools as he went searching for America. However, the longer he could not find her, the longer he began to panic. Already, having let her out of his sight and not being able to find her last time, had led to her meeting with Finland and Sweden. Consequently, that led to the discovery of her existence to the others. What would happen now? Would she meet more Nations? Would some other horrible situation occur, that would definitely not meet with his approval?

He couldn't allow anything else to happen, and he hadn't liked things getting out of his control like this. Anything more out of his control was just unacceptable.

He was nearing the end of his rope when he finally saw his little one. Except she was being confronted by both France and England, where France was attempting to tempt America with his cuisine and England had gone to sulk.

And then he saw America move passed France and worriedly go over to England, asking if he was okay.

France pouted about being rejected and England started to rejoice and smile happily at America for being chosen over "the frog."

 _No_. Absolutely not. Any Nation but England. He was a  _weakling_  and scrawny. He remembered him as a child –spineless, cowardly. More content to play with magic and be useless, ending up always being so  _helpless_. Rome couldn't stand it then and he wouldn't stand it now, knowing England would cripple America and make her soft and naïve to the point of vulnerable and dependent (he too would want to shield her and protect her, but to make her weak and disgustingly frail was not something he wanted at all).

No, he definitely did not like the idea of giving England custody over America, and would have chosen someone else. The very idea that England now was America's physical guardian made him furious and easily balking at the idea. He would have even chosen Germania and any of his descendents (and he hated the lot of them), if simply because they were a strong race and full of warriors. It was something he could respect, as opposite to the likes of  _England_ , who was nothing short of anything  _but_  a warrior (and coming from a bunch of tribal, barbaric nation full of savages).

She was to be a warrior queen. England stood in that path, and Rome wouldn't allow it. He would  _make_  America into a warrior queen, carve her into that image as he had meticulously planned from the beginning. England's appointment as her guardian could potentially derail that, he felt it deep down inside.

All of his carefully made notes and contemplations over who would be the best Nation to take care of America –ruined. All because of a careless and unthinking choice (plain carelessness and thoughtlessness on his part) made by he and America. All of his carefully made plans were unraveling, all because he didn't keep a closer eye on her and because she hastily went over to comfort England and chose him of all Nations.

He was not happy with this turn of events, not happy at all.

He hated that England was now America's caretaker, and he unfortunately was unable to do anything about it. But he would just have to make do and adapt to the new change, adjust his plans to fit accordingly, and manipulate the current situation to America and his advantage. There was no use crying over something that was already done. He was upset, but he would overcome this as he had with everything else.

Still, he kept his face stony and unhappy as America turned in England's arms and caught sight of him. She looked hesitant and wary, but kept still and childlike in England's arms as the thick eye-browed Nation happily walked back to camp with her in his arms, intent on showing her off and eagerly spreading the news that she was  _his_  little sister and that she'd actually chosen him.

He kept silent and kept his distance the entire time, letting America be on her own and be with her new guardian. He ignored any of the glances she sent over to him, ones that grew more desperate as time passed, and only either returned them stoically or looked away indifferently. He followed after the two when England went to the house he'd had built in the first of colonies he'd claimed in America's lands, where he brought her to her new room and where he promised to fix it up for her soon.

Rome watched in the corner as England tenderly sung America to sleep, her long lashes fluttering until she finally closed them completely. England smiled fondly, brushing a hand through her hair, before he laid a brief kiss on her forehead and then departed to downstairs.

The former Empire Nation leaned against the wall and waited. He looked at America coolly and her bright blue eyes snapped opened, and she stared back at him with them unblinking.

"I thought I told you to stay put," he said quietly, pursing his lips.

"I was bored," she said simply. "And you left me behind. You were gone. For a long time."

He narrowed his eyes, starting to scowl.

"I was scared."

That made him blink and reflexively flinch back. And then she started to bite her lip, her eyes widening and beginning to water as she looked at him sadly. He crumbled easily.

Italy had once used similar tactics against him (although his grandson hadn't been too bright and probably wasn't purposeful about doing so), and he had been weak to them and succumbed to those eyes more often than not. It was no different this time (and he was a little unsure whether or not America, on the other hand,  _was_  purposely utilizing such devastating eyes –she was much more calculating and scheming than Italy, and very much more like Rome in this manipulative way).

"Ah, my adorably and so sweet America!" he loudly proclaimed, having no fear of being overheard due to his state, and promptly tackled the little Nation and swung her in his arms as he tightly embraced her.

She blinked and pouted to herself.

"Don't be so sad, my little cherub~ Rome still cares for you very much so,  _Angelus_ ," he crooned, as he rubbed his cheek against hers fondly. "We will just have more work to do, is all. This little setback is nothing to Rome –I will teach you to conquer, my darling  _regina_."

Yes, his little American Queen will soon learn to be an Empire soon enough, with his diligent and careful guidance.

Started 7/14/12 – Completed 1/16/13


	3. Mother England

Rome was still a bit put off, but he had largely cooled on the subject of England. Instead, he reviewed England's history that he knew of, but he was much too young to really be of use when Rome had been in the picture. Britannia had been there, uncouth though she was. She was still very fierce and there were huge marks of intelligence that flashed in her eyes, hidden behind barbarianism and savage behavior. Over the time in which he had her as part of his Empire, she had been tamed slightly and was becoming cultured, which at least he saw the results of in England.

If only the fierce part of Britannia had survived in England! Then the other Nation could actually be useful in helping to mold America into the likes of Britannia's Boudica. Now that was a woman he could acknowledge, though also pity and shake his head at for daring to stand up to the likes of him and his mortal kinsmen…

It's a shame that his Romans had disliked the idea of strong and intelligent women so much back then…His favorite, and probably the first (or at least the most memorable of them to him) of the mortal women he'd come across had been Queen Cleopatra VII of Egypt. Bright, lovely woman. He'd always enjoyed talking with her (and switching several languages and practicing them with her, also rather impressed that she was able to keep pace with him), for all the times he'd visited her with Julius or later on, Antony. It really was a damn shame, especially in that his Romans had been so against her, and of her death in the end. He had hoped to be able to comfort her at the loss of everything and Antony (and Julius, as he had never been able to do so at the time of his old friend's death) and even sleep with her without worry or disrespect to two old friends, as a woman he respected and admired, and especially as a mortal. But alas –rebellious and defiant to the end, that woman.

He had, quietly, mourned to himself, knowing of his people and his government's outlook on her. He had been quite pleased, though surprised, to see the effigy Octavian –excuse him, _Augustus_  –had ordered made in the image of her with an asp, and had paraded (strangely respectfully, though neither Augustus himself, or anyone else, had said anything) it through the streets of Rome for his triumph. Even if the effigy had been made to disrespect and mock her and insult her memory, as all would like to claim, such a profound silence from his people and Augustus' odd and dare he say incriminating behavior spoke much and opposite such claims. Rome's people may have hated her, but in the end of it all, they could not help but respect and admire her as Rome did –and be in awe of her and her legacy, especially as someone who had challenged and threatened Roman rule so much, and nearly been successful. This was a woman, in a time where women and importance of them was rare (leadership of women more so, and as a  _singular_  ruler), who had won over so many people, including two of Rome's elite (maybe more) and inevitably the rest of Rome's beloved people –whether they wanted to or not, liked it or not.

Rome also had strong suspicions that his first Emperor had harbored, while very secret, strong feelings for the late Queen. Which was made more obvious when her effigy had been tucked away in a private place (despite the triumph being over), and that Augustus had visited her statue practically religiously and obsessively every day until his death. He had also become extremely fond and warmhearted towards Cleopatra Selene, the Queen's daughter being doted upon with strong favoritism and growing up cared for and with the favor of the Emperor.

He had sighed frequently and lamented many times about the situation to Egypt and Greece, but Egypt (growing rather cold and a little more distant since the death of her favorite mortal) had merely given him one of her enigmatic smiles before leaving him at those times. Greece, on the other hand, had laid gentle hands upon him and had told him softly that Egypt will always mourn, Augustus will always reap his rewards and more so his consequences, and it will all always be that way. And that nothing could change that.

It was as she said, he supposed. It still seemed rather begotten that Selene had probably never gotten to know that the reason why the Emperor had practically treated her as if she was his own (and in reality, really had been integrated into Augustus' immediate family, and rather too easily at that), was because Augustus had probably been rather deeply infatuated with her mother and maybe even desperately wished Selene had been his with her, and could possibly had imagined…pretended…in his darkest hours…

Such a nonexistent relationship Augustus had with the late Queen, so reminiscent of the one he and Egypt slowly echoed after Cleopatra's death…to the point that she simply vanished one day, leaving her son behind. Greece and her son had ended up taking care of the young Nation.

Rome had simply turned indifferently the other way.

Inwardly, he grieved the loss of both of his Egyptian Queens.

It was a thought that Augustus had loved and lost a woman he never had, and Rome idly thought back to his own paramours. He even wondered if Augustus' obsession and unrequited affection had been so strong, that in his weaker times had he thought of using Selene as a replacement for his defiant queen (or if he sometimes saw Cleopatra in her…or in place of her, sometimes mistaking or seeing an overlap to create an illusion).

He was getting old. He kept reminiscing too much, and remembering things from back then. He really needed to stop being stuck in his glory days and keep to the present, where he had a new claim and a new start to life.

He looked down at the child on his lap on the bed England had provided for her, and threaded his hand through her blonde locks.

On the topic of queens –which brought him back to his original thought. He had no doubts he could make America a conqueror and a queen in time, regardless of the newest predicament thrown his way. Even if England would be there, Rome would be there as well. He could always correct the Nation's teachings to America in stride, and he would help mold and teach America to the side and in secret, even in the face of England teaching her physically and to the rest of the world.

Rome wasn't gone after all.

And though he felt that England would probably teach her how to be ladylike (which wasn't too bad, as he knew America was a lady and culture was always important –Greece had stressed that to him many a times), Rome could always be the one to focus on the aggressive, fighting part.

There was also that, since Rome couldn't truly and fully teach America to fight, intelligence was an extremely prized and important part he could focus on in place of. Both Boudica and Cleopatra had had that in spades –he would make sure America would be no different.

"America?" the door opened slightly and England had softly called out to their now shared charge, as he poked his head in.

Rome mildly watched him, curious to how England would handle his new colony. He watched closely as the blond hesitantly approached America's sleeping form, tentatively shaking her small shoulder.

"America, would you like some breakfast?"

America made a cute noise and stretched, making both England and Rome coo at the adorableness. Then she sat up and rubbed her eyes, blinking cutely and then looking at England.

"Food?"

England nodded eagerly and held out his arms, and Rome had to force back a growl. America surreptitiously patted his hand before she continued to crawl across the bed and into England's arms. With that, England cheerfully carried America downstairs with Rome following them.

Rome cringed at the food that was laid out, more so when both America and England started eating it without complaint. England, he remembered, couldn't tell good food from horse shit. America…dear her, she should know better from all the years with him.

He face palmed and focused on not instinctively imagining the taste of England's cooking, which would inevitably lead him to throwing up in his mouth.

Afterwards, England was cleaning up and had allowed America to go venture outside. England finished up quickly and hurried out to keep an eye on the little girl Nation wandering about outside. Rome tsked and shook his head. America could take care of herself, and had long before England had been there –long before Rome even.

But England still fussed over and watched with an overprotective air that rather amused Rome, who wouldn't admit that he slightly echoed the feeling, and watched as America ran around the fields. And then there was a bison nearby and England was quick to warn her away from it. Then America grabbed its front hooves and was miraculously swinging it around in circles playfully, astonishing both England and Rome. Rome really should have known better though. He's lived with her longer…

"I guess she'll be able to take care of herself just fine…" England murmured fondly.

He let her play a little bit longer before calling her in, and Rome had a feeling something was about to be announced that would further change things.

"America, I'm going to have to go back to the mainland soon," England immediately started, once he'd sat her down.

America watched him with wide eyes and Rome frowned, trying to figure out what would this mean for them.

"I want you to come with me," England said earnestly, face matching his tone as he took both of America's smaller hands in his.

America blinked, surprised, and took a discreet glance at Rome, who tilted his head and allowed her to choose.

"Okay," she said simply, and England broke out into a wide grin.

"You'll love it there! I'll show you all the sites and show you everything."

America tentatively smiled and Rome plotted.

* * *

America tugged at her skirt and frowned. She glared at the amused look on Rome's face.

"What?"

She glared harder at him.

"It's pretty," he consoled her.

"It's heavy," she retorted. "It  _is_  pretty," she reluctantly conceded. "But all these ruffles and stuff make it hard to move in. And makes it heavy. And I'm just not used to it."

They shared equal sighs at the elaborate clothing that people outside of America's lands seemed fond of wearing.

"America! We're about to leave soon," England called out from the front.

America sighed again and gathered up her skirt, her small arms having trouble getting them all and holding them. She grumbled, ignoring Rome's chuckles, as she had to practically waddle down the stairs and to where England was. At least she didn't have to complete her travel down, as at seeing her trouble walking, England went over to her and immediately scooped her up into his arms.

"And don't you look beautiful," England made a pleased hum and set her down after they were at the bottom of the stairs.

He straightened down her gown, smiling at her light blush, and meticulously fixed strands of her hair around her face.

"The court will love you," England beamed at her. "King George definitely will. His grandfather, George also, would have been very pleased with you, but His current Highness will be delighted to have something going right, after having to pull out of Austria's war for you. I wish you could have met Elizabeth though. Now _that_  was a royal and she would have found you absolutely perfect, my dear. It's only too bad George is more known for his bad qualities; he's quite the man with foreign policy and military work. I suppose you'll get to see for yourself, when you meet him."

Rome was rolling his eyes in the background, and America frowned at him in England's arms.

'Play nice,' she mouthed to him from around England.

Rome smirked.

"Alright, America. It's time we set off to sea," England picked her back up.

America had never been out to sea before. She decided she didn't like it.

It was cold on the way, and England had warned her it was colder and even often rainy where he lived. And it was so bumpy! The waves weren't favorable to their ship and often it was being rocked to and fro on the cold waters.

Perhaps because it was her first experience or she just wasn't used to it. Either way, America spent a large amount of time being miserable in her bed, often crying or curling into a ball on it. England would fuss over her frequently, tucking in the blanket around her, talking randomly to keep her occupied or focused on him instead of the ride, and just generally trying to make her feel better. She really liked his hugs too.

But sometimes, when England couldn't help her, the quiet and soothing presence of Rome was familiar and comforting, and she easily fell asleep to the soft brushing of his calloused hand through her hair.

One day, America was pouting on her bed, curled up with her knees tucked in, and England's huge blanket around her. She had her hands clutching it close from inside of it from where she was burrowed. England entered and glanced at her, becoming amused at her position, more so when she burrowed further into the blanket, her blue eyes angrily glaring at him from over the top of the blanket (and consequently now the only thing that could be seen of her, except for her blonde hair).

"You'll be glad to know we're here, America."

Rome perked up. Finally, they were there. And he could see the differences from the old world, see if Greece was referred to as 'Ancient' now, as Egypt had, what advances had been made…

And then they were taking a step onto  _Londinium_.

His eyes widened at the changes, seeing the buildings and the technology that had evolved. As well as the people bustling about, wearing similar clothes to America and England, but some even more elaborate.

" _Londinium_ ," America muttered in awe.

England stopped short, staring at her in puzzlement, though he was still smiling.

"What was that?"

She cleared her throat in embarrassment. "Lo-Lodinum," she purposely phrased it awkwardly.

"London, dear," England smiled brightly. "Isn't that wonderful? You're so smart! Already, you're catching onto languages and learning so quickly."

England eagerly grabbed her hand, leading her into the building where she was to meet everyone. America hid her twitching lips, refraining from smiling in amusement, while Rome huffed in exasperation.

"America knows how to talk quite fine," Rome said dryly at England's back. "She's quite capable, thank you very much."

America choked back a laugh.

"Are you alright, America?" England stopped and asked worriedly.

She gave him a wide smile to reassure him and then they were walking again.

"This, America, seems to be your official debut to the world. Make it worthwhile and unforgettable,  _Angelus_.

"Demure, America. Demure," Rome finished up quietly.

And America inwardly sighed and prepared herself, before straightening and readying to act with all the manners Rome taught her and what little England had managed to teach before hurrying her to his home, combining them to her liking.

Started 1/21/13 – Completed 1/23/13


	4. The Dividing Line

America had spent a year with England in his Mother Country. England had quickly taught her and caught her up to the modern world, and Rome benefited from the lessons alongside her. He had been surprised to learn that England actually  _was_  somewhat of a conqueror, and a smidgen (a smidgen!) of pride entered him when he'd learned of that.

Perhaps he had been more of an influence on England than he'd thought.

He had also felt a bit lightened at that, because perhaps he wouldn't have to correct or un-teach too much of England's teachings to America. And he was also amused to hear of England's exploits as a former pirate, having remembered some of his own encounters with pirates, including that of the infamous "meet and greet" of Julius' kidnapping and subsequent return to cut down the fools.

Rome had also regretfully learned about both Greece and Egypt not only being referred as "Ancients," but also having faded away.

However, a year later, England was forced to send America back to her homelands. The Nation had fretted over this excessively, not wanting to part with her and also because he couldn't be with her on the journey back. America, actually, was the one who would calm and reassure her fellow blond Nation. She just simply smiled brightly and cutely leaned towards him, tugging at the ends of his hair with her little fingers as she spoke in her now perfect English that it was alright and she didn't mind, as long as he wrote to her regularly.

England practically melted into goo.

_(So did Rome, but he wasn't going to mention that.)_

And so it was, that America and Rome was sent back to her home and where they'd also caught up with what was going on in America's home since they'd been gone. Things had been…updated. There was a lot more foreigners in her land, and America's natives had started to feel restless and subdued (and even a bit violent and angry). And, though America had been kept from it in England (Rome had suspicions, since she'd been somewhat sick at times), there had been a lot of…killings of her people on her lands. She hadn't been happy about it at all.

However, for those who were originally of her land (yet had also long been immigrants of themselves long ago) and of those who were new and moving there, she tried to make peace and keep them on equal grounds. The newcomers had become part of her and she would welcome them openly.

But it was hard to make  _everyone_  happy.

However, America was doing the best that she could and Rome was very proud of his little one. Except…she wasn't quite so little anymore. Her introduction to the world, her integration into the collection of personified Nations, and the rapid growth of her lands and her world because of it, had caused little America to grow herself.

The years were passing and Rome watched her grow before his eyes.

Soon, America was no longer a little girl, but a very beautiful young woman. He could guess in the middle of the springtime of her youth, fifteen or sixteen.

The eyes of his ghostly body could not help but admire her new femininely curved body, and watched her slender limbs as she moved around like the vibrant youth she still was. The bright happy smile she always wore was, as always, on soft pouty lips that she'd always had, but had now become much more enticing. Her blue eyes, the color of her skies, were as pretty and clear as ever, but she had moments where they darkened into a deep sky blue and her eyes hooded and he could not help but watch her hungrily…

He watched her like a hungry wolf, with a gaze that would have made Romulus and Remus proud.

She was nearly as tall as him too. Slim and lean, and as graceful as he and England had taught her to be. If she'd been a man, he had no doubt grace would have been the last thing on 'his' mind, but as a proud, beautiful woman, she carried herself like the queen he'd wanted. Even her childlike and happy nature carried an undercurrent of regality and elegance one would not expect to match with a bright, open, and outgoing personality. And when she was serious, her poise and charm was all the more obvious.

Yes, he was very proud of his masterpiece.

Things had even been coming along fine, and America was starting to get the hang of the migration of people, and of how mixed the lot were. And she took care, trying her best to keep peace between her natives and the ones who'd come onto her land upon her reveal to the world.

And then England came back.

He had been watching as America was about to start on breakfast, idly chattering about how she'd slipped into the crowd of people and pretended to be one of them, observing and interacting with them curiously. And then there had been a polite knock on the door, and America had opened it to see a familiar blond Nation that Rome had been hoping to never see again and to have forgotten forever.

England's happy and hopeful smile greeted America and the continuously incorporeal Rome.

The Nation's eyes were closed, as if he were expecting a hit or was afraid to see America standing there angry and resentful of such a long absence. But it surprised even Rome when she took a few steps forward quickly and threw herself at England, willingly going into the other's arms and embracing him back. Rome frowned to himself as he watched, not at all happy and feeling the stirrings of jealousy on his part, as he uneasily looked on.

When England realized the difference in mass and weight of his once miniature little ball of sunshine, he opened his eyes in astonishment and finally saw the growth of his colony. And then when America extracted herself from his arms and stood back sheepishly, England could only gaze in awe and shock at the much taller and older America. And like Rome, he guiltily noticed her beautiful form, and had to rapidly backtrack his thoughts and shove down away feelings he felt he shouldn't feel for his "little sister."

Rome's body immediately shifted into a tense and defensive structure, glaring at the other Nation. While America remained oblivious, he could see and witness the beginnings of England's feelings starting to change and morph already, and the early stages of attraction forming from the Nation to their shared charge. He was, after all, in a similar predicament.

But Rome always won, and he wouldn't lose to this little boy.

England found out she was just about to start on breakfast and eagerly offered to cook for her, and she agreed without a protest. Rome scrunched up his nose in disgust, but she only gave him an amused look while he glanced at England and cringed.

He nonchalantly thought that England had a chance against him if he ever managed to choke some of his food down Rome's throat and murder him with it.

That night, as England told her regretfully of his needs to go out and see how things are and find out the situation, America had fallen asleep quickly as it turned dark out. Rome took his usual spot by her, on "his" side of the bed, lying on his stomach as he observed her peaceful, sleeping face.

Her silky blonde tresses almost looked like they were glowing in the moonlight. He moved his hand through them as he gazed down at her, having moved up slightly onto his elbows.

England had left hours ago by now, but it only meant more time for Rome to be alone with his  _regina_. She was young, certainly. But it wasn't an issue with him. Especially not when it came to her, his precious girl.

So suddenly, his paternal feelings had turned into a darker realm…Perhaps, they had never been paternal in the first place.

He knew that he and America had shared an unusual and complex relationship since the beginning. The easiest way he'd tried to describe it was master-apprentice, but he quickly saw that they were much closer than that, so he'd easily swapped it with more familial terms. But it never sat right, because America was not anywhere near someone he felt like family to, though he was completely sure of that they were as close to (if not closer) in those terms of relationship.

Rome knew then, that he'd always wanted America to be his queen.  _His_  queen.

When England would come later that night (very late, Rome noted), Rome watched with sharp eyes as England would check in on America. The English Nation watched from the entrance to her bedroom, a fond smile on his face as looked upon the other blonde in the room. But then his smile faltered and he retreated quickly, closing the door with an uneasy click.

The subsequent nights were all too alike, and Rome watched as the other started to feel affection that only he was allowed to cultivate for America.

One night, America was up later than usual, reading a book Rome had wanted her to read to continue her education. It was late and stretching the time in which America really, really should go to sleep, when England entered again, opening the door without his usual knock.

The blond flushed red. "I'm sorry, America. I thought you were asleep and was checking up on you."

Rome watched.

"I'll be in bed in a bit, after I mark my page, England," she promised, smiling widely.

He started to clench his hands into angry fists.

"Would…would you like to sleep with me tonight, America? Like old times," England sheepishly asked.

The former empirical Nation shook angrily, but stayed silent and continued to watch the proceedings.

America blinked in surprise, before continuing to smile and nodded her head. "Sure! That would be nice, England. I'll change first."

He couldn't help but glare at the other male viciously.

"Ah, me too," England grinned slightly. "I'll see you in a bit then."

He wanted nothing more than to charge forward and choke the other into submission, and show him what a real conqueror could do.

But still Rome watched.

When America turned to him, he had quickly composed himself and his face was stoic and unrevealing. He nodded evasively to her, her questioning look diminishing.

When England returned, knocking this time, he entered and smiled slightly at America and slipped into bed beside her. The two faced each other, and America gave a brief smile at England before closing her eyes and having no trouble falling into an easy sleep.

England didn't echo her.

Instead, he lay on his side and slowly reached out his trembling hand to touch the side of her face, lightly caressing her skin as he gave a look of wonderment towards the girl, one that Rome could understand the other would have, but did not like seeing it on anyone else towards America.

The two sleeping together also agitated Rome, but it had been common when America was a child. Now it did even more, seeing as she was much more grown up.

"Goodnight, Sweetheart," England murmured, and he fell asleep still holding his hand to America's face.

For now, Germania and his descendants would have to wait. Rome would be focusing on waging this silent war against this former Pirate Nation.

He would like to show England how he dealt with pirates, and it would make what Julius Caesar did to his captives children games in comparison.

However, right then, Rome could only watch them.

It was all he could do at the moment.

* * *

It was the year 1754.

It was the year that England finally and unfortunately (in Rome's opinion) came back into their lives.

It was also the year the French and Indian War would begin, with tension rising to alarming heights and the British colonies would fight against the French colonies, with some of America's natives allying with the French.

It was the year that America was inducted into the hell that was the life living amongst other Nations, where conflicts were bound to happen and there was no escaping or keeping peace for everyone involved, as she so realized as she continuously threw up in the basin, with England tenderly holding her hair back and murmuring comforting words into her ear, sounding regretful and apologetic.

It was his war, but in return it had become hers.

Throwing up again, she cried into the basin and sobbed and just begged for the pain and sickness to go away. She looked up with teary eyes, seeing Rome watch her solemnly. His gaze was unwavering and he didn't look pitying nor had any trace of sympathy. He merely watched, but then smiled sadly.

'Be strong,' he formed the words, though his voice stayed silent.

Because it was only the start, now that she was a known Nation. He knew this life, and had even thrived on it. He would teach her endurance and make her refuse to buckle down.

It couldn't be helped now that everyone knew of her, and Rome would make sure that she would be like him and not fold from the pressure. She would even rise up, if he had any say in the matter.

This was neither the first nor the last of her sick spells, even when England was forced to go back overseas and continue to fight France there as well. But he made the point to come back and forth frequently, trying not to stray from America's side.

…It was the year 1754, and it was the year where both Rome and England started to have feelings for their charge.

When it was all over, it was the year 1763 and Rome had been watching over his exhausted  _regina_. She lay on her bed, pale and with dark circles under her eyes, and sweat coating her smooth skin.

"It hurts, doesn't it,  _Angelus_?" he murmured, standing above her bedside and towering over her. "It's painful and awful, and England has been part of the cause because of this war. Wasn't he?"

And he would continue to whisper words of sedition into her ears, longing and knowing it wouldn't be long until it was time for him and her to break away from England finally.

She didn't answer, and her pretty but dulled eyes only blinked tiredly at him.

"America? America, I have a surprise for you," England's voice echoed from downstairs, and Rome turned his body slightly to face the door, as America barely moved her eyes.

England knocked, per usual, and entered. He walked in quickly, and both America and Rome were surprised to see a male that was rather similar-looking to America tentatively walk in behind England.

England smiled excitedly. "America, this is your twin brother, Canada. He'll be living with us for now on."

The two "siblings" stared at each other, before America, the first in a long while, began to smile brightly and greet her new brother happily. Canada's breath hitched in his throat at the action, and he immediately began to feel a warm feeling and already protectiveness towards her.

"C-Canada! I'm America," her smile widened.

And then she promptly passed out.

As England and Canada rushed over to her and began to fret in panic, Rome frowned to himself as he pushed aside his own worry.

This new…brother. If he did not interfere in Rome's plan, then he could be tolerated.

When Canada looked up to address England in distress, he accidentally caught the look on the other's face towards his new sister.

"America," England murmured, threading his hand through her hair tenderly.

In that moment, both Canada and Rome could easily see that England definitely did not see or have feelings of America as family, not in the way England had asked Canada to view him as an older brother or even a father figure.

The light in his eyes, the fondness that was too fond, the care and tenderness he showed towards her, and the obvious affection spoke volumes.

Started 4/2/13 – Completed 4/2/13


	5. American Revolution: Tea Drain

"Rome~ How do I look?" America grinned at him.

Rome wrinkled his nose, but sighed and gave her a fond smile.

"As the English say –absolutely darling. Go on, trot around in your costume, America."

She gave him one last mischievous smirk, before she trounced out of her room. He frowned to himself, but shook his head. She was just having a little fun anyway, and this could actually work out in his favor…

"Mornin'~" America greeted her twin, kissing his cheek.

Poor Canada turned such a bright red that she was reminded of a tomato, and she giggled slightly. He gave her a slight pout, but his eyes twinkled at her.

"Good morning, America," he said in his soft voice. "Father is in the town. I see you actually went through with your crazy plan. He won't be pleased."

"He has no idea about this, and you won't tell him," she looked at him pointedly. "And England will hopefully won't see me. I'm just having a bit of fun," she smiled widely.

"Dressed up in pirate clothes?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Hey! At least I made my own, and I didn't go off and nick his," she defended herself playfully.

"Of course. That makes it so much better," he said sarcastically, but inwardly he was still feeling a little uneasy about this.

It was only a small thing, just a little bit of harmless fun. But lately, America and England would start butting heads over the smallest things, and sometimes America would come close to tears. She'd come to him sometimes, in the middle of the night after some of the fights, sniffling but stubbornly refusing to cry. He'd just hold her in comfort and try to smooth things over, sometimes providing excuses and reasons for England.

He really hoped this wouldn't be one of those times that America got upset.

He hoped more that she wouldn't cry this time.

"Done with breakfast!" America declared happily, standing up abruptly.

"Huh?" Canada blinked.

She rolled her eyes. "While you continue to be lost in thoughts, I'm going to go off and see if any of the ships would let me pretend to be a pirate on it. I'll see you later, Canada!"

She gave him one last peck on the cheek before walking out the door with a powerful stride to her walk, and him watching her with troubled eyes.

She quickly found a few ships and eagerly went to one. She had no trouble convincing the captain and crew of her presence, whom she promised she wouldn't be any trouble or get in their way. Rome merely stayed in the background, watching with a scowl. She inwardly sighed. She knew he didn't care all that much for pirates, considering his own history with them –she remembered the stories he told her of Caesar and the pirates, of his own encounters.

But she was just playing pretend.

With perfect balance, she gracefully traversed the mast she was on, heading to the pole with ease, with arms out to help steady her.

"Careful there, Bell!" one of the crewman shouted out to her and she looked over and gave him a mock salute, grinning happily.

Bell. Short for Bellona, as the crew had denounced it as too much of a mouthful and odd a name, as well as kind of strange to pronounce. Her full name that she was to use amongst the humans was Bellona Isis Kirkland. Obviously, she'd taken on England's surname, but her first two names had been bestowed upon her by Rome.

Bellona had been some Roman war goddess, he'd told her. Isis, she'd been puzzled about though. According to him, however, Isis had become a widespread goddess in Rome, especially and strangely after Caesar's assassination, to which a stalled temple construction in her name came through and it hadn't been long until she was being worshiped by Romans as well. Rome had asked if she wouldn't mind, as the name brought Rome and his once beloved Egypt (both the land and the personification) together, and also of his late beloved Cleopatra (of whom America held many characteristics of, and reminded him of a bit) because the Egyptian Queen had taken on the mantle of Isis herself to the people.

America hadn't cared as she didn't care too much of coming up with her own, so had allowed Rome to come up with a name for her.

Though he would not also say that Isis had also become known as  _Regina Caeli_  –Queen of Heaven. Of which he severely associated with America…

America had spun once around the pole before she'd heard the shouting of her caretaker. She hugged the pole with one arm, using the other to cheerfully wave at the rapidly approaching England.

"Isis!" he yelled, sounding rather upset for some reason.

That was another thing. England had been surprised by "her" choice of names, and had been rather uneasy and wary of the Latin first name she'd taken on. He'd taken to calling her by her middle name instead, uncomfortable of calling her "Bellona" and had simply said that he'd had some upsetting memories regarding Romans, some even bad.

He wouldn't tell her why, nor did Rome, so she had simply concluded that it was something between them and had dropped the inquiry. At least for now.

"Arthur!" she kept waving as she greeted him loudly with his human name around the mortals. "Ahoy there!"

But he didn't look happy at all, even as he approached her closer. Her smile faltered.

Rome watched closely, partly happy at the continuing rift that was growing between the two, but upset that his dearest America was getting so distressed over the conflicts the blond Nations got into.

"Get down from there!" England roared, disapproval lining his face. "What are you thinking, dressing up like that? And running about on ships, and especially on that mast! It's completely unladylike and dangerous! Get down here right now, young lady."

America scowled, but expertly grabbed the mast's ropes on the rig, and slid down with ease, startling some workers and some worried. England fretted a little too, but stowed it away once America came closer to him.

"I was just pretending to be a pirate. You know, like you were once. I don't see what the problem is," she sulked. "I was just playing pretend."

"One, you are much too old to be pretending pretend like this! And it's entirely inappropriate for you to dress up like a man, much less a pirate, and run around town and others in such a deplorable manner! You must act more ladylike, as you should in your age! And going up there like that? It was dangerous, Isis, and you should never have left home!"

She quietly seethed, narrowing her eyes at him. She was irritable and her temper was rising. She hadn't done  _anything_  wrong! England was being so unreasonable right now, as he had been lately.

"Maybe I shouldn't have gone up there, but I don't see anything wrong in having fun and the way I'm dressed," she declared angrily.

"Home now, young lady," England ordered, glaring back. "That is an order. Go home."

America was tempted to refuse and dare him to make her, when Rome leaned into her back and murmured to her comfortingly.

"It is alright. Go. Go home. Cool your head and rise not to him. Make your case in your silence."

America pursed her lips, but she reluctantly agreed to Rome's advice. She gave England the cold shoulder as she turned on her heel sharply, and marched away from him and off of that ship. In her home, she made her presence clearly known as she banged the door open angrily and stormed inside.

Canada peeked his head around the corner of the hallway, wincing and taking a guess at what had panned.

"America? You alright?"

"No! I'm not alright!" she screamed acidly at him. She immediately flinched and regretted it. "I'm sorry, Canada. I'm just really angry at England right now, but I didn't mean to take it out on you."

He gave her a small smile, moving more into view. "It's okay, America. How about we play at pirates outside? I know England cut your fun short, but we can play a little outside?"

America beamed happily at him. "Really! Great! But let's go into the woods, okay?"

Soon enough, she and Canada were play-sword fighting in the woods.

"Take that, scum!" America said, taking on an exaggerated pirate-ish voice.

"I'll never go down!" Canada declared.

"Move to the left, America," Rome said, completely amused as he watched. "Twist your wrist upwards quickly and harshly collide with his 'sword.' It should disarm him, because of the surprise move and the surprising force behind it."

She did as he advised her, and Rome had been right. Although, seeing as they were using sticks to pretend as swords, the force was even more so and probably ending up overkill.

America laughed lightly and with her usual grace, walked over to him and helped him up.

"That was brutal," Canada mock-whined, pouting a bit. "You always win like this. How do you fight so well with a sword? Er, stick."

America shrugged, eyes twinkling. "Secret~" she winked at him.

Canada joined her in laughing, although his eyes couldn't help roaming around the area –particularly behind America, where he felt the most unease rise up in him. He had always felt like there was something close by to America, someone watching them. He shivered a bit at the thought that it could be some kind of supernatural force…After all, if England could believe in his fairies and unicorns and other mystical creatures, then who was to say that there wasn't some ghost haunting America? R-right?

He hated ghosts and was utterly terrified of them, and he didn't like the idea that one was haunting America or that they could be around one.

"There's a meeting being held in Boston by Samuel Adams. He's going to talk to people about this whole Tea Act and fighting it. Everyone else has managed somehow, but Boston's governor is being an utter twit right now."

Canada and America traded looks and together, they quietly trekked closer to the voice.

"I hate all these taxes! Why are we paying for all of it?" Another voice answered to the first, angrily complaining.

America frowned. She hated that her people were disgruntled and she hadn't like the taxing either. But England had kept her complacent about the whole situation, promising it was only for a little while and that it wasn't actually too bad on her people.

But like now, she keeps hearing how unhappy they all were.

"A Nation's loyalty must be to the people first," Rome murmured. "Our lands and people are kept happy, and in return we live well. We coexist in this way. When a balance is tipped, when one side is suffering, the other will too."

America clenched her hands, bowing her head as she glared at the ground.

"America?" Canada questioned softly, tentatively laying a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him mournfully. "They're all unhappy. I want to make them happy. That's all I want."

Canada looked at his sister sadly. He pulled her into his arms and held her. "I know, America. I know."

' _It wasn't fair,'_  she wanted to cry out. But she was stuck here, and stuck as she was. Unable to do anything, unable to say anything, and being kept locked away like some fairytale princess.

She liked princesses and fairytales and happily ever after's when they occurred. But she also loved the idea of fighting and being able to stand with all the big powers and not just being a lady and all grace. She wanted to impress and be impressive. She wanted to be an edge, like the sharp frame of a knife, but also have all the softness, elegancy, and demureness of a lady as well. Who said she couldn't be both? That she had to choose to either be all that a woman was supposed to be, and yet defy conventions and stand as power meant for men at the same time?

She didn't care for anyone's opinions. If she wanted to be a woman and all the softness, gentleness, and suppleness associated to women, then she damn well would be. If she wanted to fight and wear pants like a man, then she damn well could also. No one was going to demand and tell her how she should be.

She wanted so badly to be like the warrior queens Rome loved talking to her about, and that England sometimes told her of as well.

She and Canada began their trek back home initially in silence. He broke it first.

"This Samuel Adams sounds like trouble," Canada commented with a frown.

"He and the Sons of Liberty are concerned about myself," meaning of her lands and the other people living here. "They're well-meaning. They just want what's best for everyone living here."

"Yes, well, I don't want them to be getting you into trouble," Canada worriedly countered.

"It is the right of the people," she heard Rome quietly say from behind them.

"It is the right of the people," she echoed aloud. "They are living here. Their voices should be heard. Especially regarding their treatment at the hands of authority, and of the rights afforded to them."

Canada bit his lip, looking at her anxiously. "You shouldn't…talk like that. Especially if England's around…"

America pressed her lips together in a firm line and kept quiet, glaring ahead.

When they were within sight of home, they saw England worriedly pacing in front of the house. He immediately saw them, and rushed towards them with an angry scowl.

"Where have you two been? And the two of you are filthy! You should especially know better, America! This is conduct unbefitting of a young lady, especially of your age and station. The two of you need to get inside and clean up! It's dinnertime as well! For shame, you two."

America didn't argue, but she mulishly went inside first. Canada followed, muttering an apology to England after he passed him. They cleaned themselves up quickly and were at the dinner table with England, in uncomfortable and tense silence.

"Tea's not so great," America muttered suddenly.

England frowned. "You shouldn't waste it, America. And you liked tea. What is going on with you?"

"My people are angry," she spat out, looking at him irately. "You're taxing them too much! You're taxing  _me_  too much! If you cared about us, about me so much, then why are you doing this?!"

"I already told you," England tensed. "We went over this already before, America! Things are hard right now. You don't understand anything. You're much too young and naïve about this."

"I'm not too young! Or that clueless. None of that matters too much anyway! I don't need to be so old or know too much, to know how unhappy everyone is!" America stood up, making her chair screech noisily against the floor.

England copied her, his own chair screeching back. "You're not a true Nation. You wouldn't know  _anything_ about these matters," he snarled out unthinkingly. Hearing it back, he mentally winced and regretted them, but he refused to show his remorse in front of her right now.

But their fight just escalated, and soon they were just screaming and arguing back and forth, sometimes not even knowing what they were saying. Canada could only stare in shock and worry as he glanced back and forth between the feuding two, both figuratively and literally caught in the middle from his seat in between the two.

"Go to your room!" England finally shouted.

America reeled back and stared furiously at him. Quickly, vivid but brief images flitted across her mind, of a man losing control of a meeting, people pouring out of the meeting, and heading towards the harbor, where they boarded three vessels and began dumping all the tea aboard into the waters. She even saw that some of them were dressed as Mohawk warriors, and understood the true meaning behind such disguise, beyond hiding their faces from the illegal protesting they were partaking in.

She bowed her head, hiding her face. Her body trembled slightly, before she stilled and then she was lifting her head. Her chin was regally raised as she coldly gazed back at England.

"I am an American. I am not an English woman," she spoke steadily and clearly in a cool tone.

She turned and started to go to her room, as was ordered, grabbing her cup of tea with her. Quietly, she passed by the sink and poured her full cup of tea down into it, before placing the cup to the side and continuing her way with a straight, defiant posture, an elegant gait, and a raised head.

America left behind a stupefied Canada and a furiously stunned England.

Rome merely proudly followed after her, inwardly clapping at her and of the fruition of his patience concerning all his plans soon coming into being and the evidence of his grooming of America.

He and his Queen were close at hand.

Started 8/10/13 – Completed 8/10/13


	6. American Revolution: The Con of Lex

Canada didn't want to pick sides. England was like a father to him and had picked him up and sheltered him. But America was his sister and who loved and saw him and didn't see through him like others did.

But this was heartbreaking and he didn't want his family torn apart.

If only that stupid drunk smuggler Adams had kept out of things. If only all these restraining taxes had never come into being. If only England hadn't been so determined to win a war against France and landed in so much debt.

But after so much anger and riots in the streets, emanating mostly in Boston, the five colonists that were killed there, and then finally the dumping of tea into the Boston Harbor…He didn't think things would ever go back to normal. Or be the same.

There were far too many British soldiers marching along the Boston streets, and it was suffocating America. If her people felt suffocated, she felt suffocated. America and England themselves weren't fighting anymore. However, there was a tension there that Canada couldn't miss. They were civil, but America's tone was cold and England's strained.

And all the while, there were these things going on on America's land, and he felt an ominous presence haunting the house and hanging onto America like some kind of cloak of darkness.

"Don't look so lost in your thoughts, Canada," he heard America's voice say, and he turned from his window to face America at his door, giving him a small tired smile.

"I'm surprised you didn't attend that meeting with all those other rebels," Canada lightly teased.

"I didn't feel like it," America murmured, looking down and closing her eyes.

Then again, America hadn't snuck outside for a long time. Or even taken a step foot out of the house, despite the fact that England hadn't really restricted her from going out. But somehow, the house had still managed to become like a silent cage, in which all three of them couldn't escape from.

"He's trying, you know," Canada whispered.

Silence reigned for a few moments.

"I know," she said, pained.

England had been trying so hard that even his own government was split in the middle, with one calling themselves the Tories and wanted to snuff out this rebellious American spirit, and the other calling themselves the Whigs who'd hoped to be more lenient. England himself sided with the Whigs, but even that couldn't resolve the two sides and left even more problems between America and England.

Suddenly, he felt a hand land heavily on his neck and he looked up to see America. She gave him a dejected smile and brushed his blond hair back.

"The beat of war is coming," she said softly. "It won't stop."

Canada knew that. He did, really. But he hated it and he just wanted things to go back to normal, and they could all be happy together.

Soft lips pressed against his forehead and he looked at America in desperation.

"You don't have to choose, Canada. You don't ever have to choose," one tear, and then another slid down his face. "I'll do whatever I can to keep you out of this as much as possible."

Maybe it was cowardly, but he just wanted his family together.

* * *

Rome hadn't wanted it to be like this, if only because it was causing America so much pain. Maybe he was heartless. Maybe he was so used to tearing apart families, throwing war around and being uncaring about the consequences that his wars and his ambition pushed onto those he'd conquered.

But he couldn't find it in him to care for Canada's pain, or to let America wallow too much in Canada and England's grief. If she wanted to become the warrior queen she had told him she wanted to be like in his stories, if she wanted this independence, she needed to cast them aside and step forward on her own and make her own claim in their world.

She couldn't afford to have so much heart and so much empathy for those who should be considered the enemy.

And seeing this now, in hindsight, Rome thought that he shouldn't have let her get so attached and care for Canada so much. He, as much as England, were weaknesses and attachments that America couldn't afford to have in her rise to power.

She was a woman reborn and she only needed him by her side.

It would also relieve him to be the only man in her life again, and to be the only one she depended on. Too long had her relationship with England, and even Canada, made him uneasy. It wouldn't be too long now until his words, his presence – _Rome_  –would be all that America looked to once more.

"Am I doing the right thing?" America asked him anxiously.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "You are America. Your people come first."

"And what about those of my land who still are loyal to England and want to stay as part of him?" she asked softly, staring dejectedly at the floor.

Rome frowned, feeling uneasy. He couldn't let America have doubts and second thoughts, nor did he feel comfortable that her own attachment to England was showing –right now and through her own people.

"Then they're not your people," Rome said firmly. "They're England's, and that makes them British."

America still looked doubtful, but it would fade away. Rome was sure of it. Things were going too far now to go back, and no matter what happened, nothing would remain the same.

"It's too late now, America," Rome murmured, crossing over to her and laying a hand on her shoulder. "You mustn't get cold feet. You've crossed a line you can't go back from. You can only go forward from here."

America sighed and nodded, but her heart wasn't fully in it. So Rome knelt in front of her and gently grasped her face, making her look into his eyes.

"I know you…care for England," Rome had to force himself not to spit that out. "And in time, he'll understand. But right now, you have to let him go."

Seeing that he had her full attention concentrated on him now, Rome gave her a grim smile.

"You must fight for your right to be America."

America would be great.

And he would not let anyone –not Canada, not  _England_ , and not even herself –stop her from becoming so.

* * *

England tried to read his book, but his thoughts wandered up to the blonde that had holed herself up in her room. For a while now, they had been at odds and even more recently, distancing themselves to the point where they hadn't spoken in days.

This isn't how he wanted things to be. He didn't want them fighting with each other, not even if it was just their people. But he knew how it was, how Nations were built. And despite what he'd said that night, America was definitely a Nation as much as he was. He'd had no right to say such a thing to her.

But now there was this divide between them, and he didn't know how to bridge it.

There were too many things involved now that it was inevitable they would go to war with each other, just as they'd been in their own house. Nations did not always solely reflect the opinion of their people or government, but their people's feelings and emotions at least influenced how a Nation acted and spoke sometimes. And likewise, a Nation's own feelings and thoughts tended to be different from their people, but when they were feeling strongly, they could end up influencing their people as well.

And this coming war was a complicated mess, a mixture of England and America's own personal problems with each other, and of their people's conflicted feelings. And he didn't know how to make it right again.

He'd only wanted to do his best by her, to protect and take care of her…

Why did it have to be this way?

"I'd only wanted to be your protector," England murmured to himself. He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to start crying. He'd cried so much as a child, but back then he'd had to learn it wasn't becoming of a Nation, a male Nation at that, to cry at all, none of the least the amount England had then.

Rome had always told him to "stop that pitiful whining."

Memories of that man flitted through his head and he scowled. He was such a war monger, and if he were here, he would be encouraging this war and trying to accelerate it. England was only glad that Nation was long gone, and that he couldn't be here to influence America. His years with that man had been hell, and he was grateful that America didn't have to experience that. That he had been able to give her a better life, a better childhood, than the one he'd suffered under Rome's hands. That Rome wasn't there to corrupt and seduce her, and lay waste to her as the Empiric Nation ruthlessly did all else he'd conquered. Like Ancient Greece, Ancient Egypt, his mother…

No, he'd done his best to give America everything. But even if he hadn't caged and conquered her like Rome had to him, his mother, and all the other Nations of before…perhaps he was no better. He'd kept her in a gilded cage, refused to let her have an ounce of freedom. He stifled her and her spirit, demanding so many changes to her wild heart. He laid so many restrictions in the fear of losing her, and now she was running away from him.

He'd been so overprotective, so tight-gripped on her because he wanted her safe and loved…but also because he knew he selfishly wanted to keep her all to himself. Though the restrictions and taxations of her people were a large part of this mess, his hold on her had become too much and this was much more personal and intimate than the troubles of their people.

He was suffocating her, and had been for so long. Too long.

England glanced at the missive that had been sitting innocently by his side. It wouldn't take too much time until Lieutenant General Thomas Gage would be on the outskirts of Lexington and finally Concord. America's people had created a militia with the intent to rebel against the British troops stationed in Boston, and England could only hope the hostilities were quickly stopped so that he could focus and get to work on repairing his relationship with America.

He glanced upwards, and wondered if he should go to her. Warn her maybe…stay by her side for when the time of the battle comes. Brace themselves, and he could teach her how to endure a Nation's struggle through the wars they have to go through…

He stood from his chair and hesitantly went to the stairs, glancing up them and wondering if she would be upset if he came to her now. Then he was forcing determination into his step as he walked up the stairs, knowing he had to face her sooner or later. And it was better now, before the battles would start and there would be no time to talk.

But as he stood in front of her closed door, he stopped and hesitated again. His hand reached up and gently touched the wood of the door.

Then it went to the cold doorknob, turning it and then pushing the door open. He stared in shock and growing numbness at the empty bedroom.

England fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, finally giving into the urge to cry.

* * *

"Ohoho! You've lost, mon ami," blond and grinning charmingly, France was delighted at having won the game against his old friend Prussia.

Prussia sneered mockingly. "Ja, you won. But I'll win the next round!"

"Don't be a sore loser, Prussia," the last of the trio snickered. Spain tossed some coins into the pile as the cards were shuffled and then doled out. "If you win, you win. And if you lose? You lose."

"What kind of attitude is that, Spain? No wonder your armada lost against England's," Prussia jeered.

Spain's laid-back attitude changed slightly as the Spaniard glared lightly at the Germanic Nation.

"Have you heard of the overseas troubles?" France skillfully changed subject without blinking, looking over his cards with a practiced eye. He reached over for his wine glass without even sparing it a look, taking several sips after.

"What with England and his colony?" Prussia shrugged. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Nothing really," France hmmed, hiding his actual interest in the subject. "I've just been curious about it all lately. It seems almost like yesterday, when we all traveled to the Americas and tried to lay claim on the land, and I saw that cute, little cherub. I tried so hard to make her my little sister," he sighed dramatically.

Prussia snorted, and even Spain had to hold back his laugh.

"Who'd want  _you_  for a brother, you pervert?" Prussia laughed at him.

Rolling his eyes delicately, France waved him off. "As I was saying, I probably would have made a better guardian for her. At least I would not have driven her to rebel against me, as England seemed to have done."

"I wonder what that idiot's done," Spain remarked, a tone of acid subtly lacing his comment.

"Who knows?" Prussia grinned. "Maybe she got tired of his cooking."

All three of them laughed at that.

But France was thinking. "She's got guts at least," he set down his wine and looked at the others, giving them a playful smile that said more than it should. "I support her cause wholeheartedly as well."

The other two looked at him uneasily.

"Hey, you're just saying that, right?" Spain prodded him. "I agree. I support her cause and cheer her on, though I don't think she has a chance against England. But you won't…do something stupid. Like go to war with England again."

Prussia nodded solemnly, agreeing with the brunet.

France gave them an irritated look. "That  _Englishman_  humiliated me and my country. And after Joan…I'll never forgive him. And truly! America is in the right and I believe in her cause. If she wants to be free of England, then let her be free! My countrymen and I all agree and support such a noble cause. And to fight back with only what she has and is…it's very admirable. My country and I may not be ready yet to go back into war…but we want revenge and admire America. There are other ways to provide her with support…and given time, perhaps we  _will_  go to war with England again."

Prussia grunted, folding his cards and then laying serious eyes on France.

"You prove to me she's got a chance…I'm in this with you and her."

France grinned widely, and then the two of them looked to Spain. Though a bit more reluctant, Spain nodded his agreement as well.

"Then it's settled," France said smugly. "That brute will lose this time. And ironically at the hands of his precious America!"

Perhaps it will be a long road, but this time he had a feeling that England would lose it all and soon his English empire will crumble.

* * *

America returned to the house, not remembering how long it had been. But she was tired, sore, and it hurt everywhere. She'd fought alongside her countrymen, all the while enduring the effects of what happened when her people fought.

It hurt. Really,  _really_  bad. She felt like she was about to keel over any moment, but she didn't want to show weakness. Not to her countrymen, who needed her to be strong and give them hope, not to anyone who would doubt her because of her gender, and not to England, who would think she needed to be coddled and protected.

But she definitely wouldn't show weakness in front of Rome, who expected her to be every much the warrior queen he touted her as.

She entered the quiet home, seeing Canada tiredly sitting in the kitchen and pushing his food around in depression. When he saw her, his entire look changed and brightened.

"America! You're here."

She gave him a small smile and he leaped to his feet, heading towards her and giving her a huge hug, not minding the filth she was covered in.

However, Canada was quick to pull away, pointing to the door that led to the living room.

"He's in there…He's not been…well, since you left."

While Rome discreetly rolled his eyes so that America missed it, she flinched and looked gravely at the door. She nodded without looking at Canada and began to head to the door.

"America, don't," Rome told her steadfastly.

She stopped and gave him a pleading look, already looking close to tears. Damn that Englishman. He'd been plagued with the brat when the blond was younger, and now he probably would always annoyingly be attached to America, and she to him. And Rome hadn't the heart to say no to America, when she looked like that.

Letting her go on, she slipped into the room, and Rome refused to be in there and see it play out.

* * *

England sniffed and wiped his eyes. Most days, he just spent in his living room, sitting in there dazed or crying, while ignoring the pains that traveled through his body as the battles of Lexington and then Concord began. He was used to it, having lived a long time and gone through many wars already.

But the pain in his heart wouldn't be as easily ignored.

When the door opened, he didn't bother to look at it, just sitting and continuing to cry silently. But when soft fingers touched his cheeks and lifted his face from staring at the floor, he was suddenly looking into the face of America.

"You…you came back," he wanted to rejoice, to jump up in joy and hold her to him.

She gave him a sad smile.

"I'm not staying long," and just like that, he felt shattered again. "I have to go back."

It was then he noticed her attire, and realized that she'd gone to the battle and fought with her people.

"Stay," he said suddenly. "Please. America, please  _stay_ ," he then grabbed onto her arms and pulled her closer, laying his forehead against her chest and fighting back sobs.

"England," her voice broke at his name. "I need to do this. You need to let me go."

He shook his head slowly, before turning his head up to look at her.

" _I can't_ ," he admitted. "I can't let you go."

And he realized all along just why he couldn't.

"I," his voice cracked and he took a shaky breath. "I love you, America.  _I love you_."

A myriad of emotions crossed her face, until it crumbled and she looked at him miserably. She leaned down and kissed him gently.

"I'm sorry, England, but you have to let me go. Please do this for me."

For a moment, he held onto her tighter. And then his hands slowly loosened their hold and she was stepping away from him.

"Don't leave me," he whispered, looking lost at the floor.

It'd gone too silent and he feared she was already gone. But then her hand lay on his head, before it was gone and she had left as well.

He felt like an empire didn't matter, if America wasn't a part of it. A part of him.

No empire meant anything, if she was gone and out of his life.

Started 3/17/15 – Completed 3/20/15


End file.
